Savage Art (A Chilling Suspense Novel) (30 page)

"Do it," she said.

"He's medium height—five-ten or eleven and trim."

Casey nodded. "Exactly. How about age?"

Jordan rolled his eyes. "Thirty to thirty-five."

"And what doesn't a man with that description have?"

Jordan didn't answer.

Moving the silverware, she motioned to his heavy cheeks and jowls. "He doesn't have face fat. I think our killer wears a face disguise at all times."

Jordan stared at the pictures. "I'll be damned."

"And if he's concerned about being memorable because of his jaw, my guess is he's got a distinctive jawline. That's about all I can tell from these pictures."

A phone rang, and Jordan reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. "Gray here."

Casey looked back down at the food she'd ordered. The burger and fries on Jordan's plate certainly looked a hell of a lot more appetizing.

"Wow," Jordan said.

Picking up her fork, she reached over and stabbed at Jordan's french fries, pausing to dip them in ketchup before stuffing them in her mouth, then repeating the process.

Jordan seemed too enthralled in his conversation to notice. "I'm heading back now." He shut off his phone and jumped up from the table.

"What is it?" she asked with her mouth full.

"I think we've found our guy—grew up in a town of twelve thousand outside Marion, Indiana. Was a suspect in the killings of his mother and sister. They were tied up and cut into pieces with a saw and pruning shears back in '94. I've got to go. I'll call you as soon as I know anything. I'll need your help comparing this '94 murder with what we've got now."

"While you're at the station, will you run a check on Kevin Wrigley?"

Jordan halted and raised an eyebrow. "Why? You find something out?"

She shook her head, feeling a bit of relief just to have asked. "I just want to be sure. I'm wrong, but I need to be sure."

"I'll do it as soon as I get back." He turned and ran from the cafeteria before she could say thanks.

Casey closed her eyes and apologized to Billy for doubting his friend. "I just have to be sure," she whispered. Looking back at the french fry covered in ketchup stuck to the end of her fork, she paused a moment and then put the fork in her mouth. It had taken too much effort getting the fry onto her fork to waste it, especially knowing what they were going to be up against.

Chapter 26

By noon the next day, Jordan had already run a full background check on Kevin Wrigley and come up with nothing. He had grown up outside Minneapolis, then Arizona, went to school at Arizona State, and moved to California eight years before. He'd had a half-dozen parking tickets, but that was the extent of his dangerous past. He had heard the relief in Casey's voice as he told her. Jordan just wished he had some better leads.

At least Renee had been able to locate a sheriff in Indiana who was familiar with the '94 murders.

"Sheriff Douglas?" Jordan Gray said when Renee handed him the line.

"This is Wayne Douglas."

Jordan introduced himself and explained why he was calling.

"I'll be goddamned," the sheriff said. "Haven't thought about that case in a long time. Was a strange one, though, especially in these parts. Awfully quiet neighborhood most the time."

"What can you tell me about the case?"

"The sheriff at the time, Charlie Rickel, is in Kansas now—working in Lawrence not too far from Kansas City."

Jordan was scribbling notes, but he was also recording the conversation so that Casey could listen and help him with the details. "Do you know how we might reach him?"

"I don't."

"No problem. Do you remember anything about the case?"

"Oh yeah. Be hard to forget that one. I was on the scene—just a deputy back then." The man paused, and Jordan could sense he hadn't had that much exposure to violent deaths. Maybe Indiana was the place for Jordan.

"I remember we got a call from the grade school. Jeanette Allister—that was the mother, was head librarian there. She hadn't come to work three days in a row, and they were worried. Charlie sent me out to take a look. I didn't get past the front porch, and I knew something was wrong. Truth be told, was the smell that tipped me off.

"Course, I was trying to make an impression back then, so I didn't call in right away. I rang the bell, and when no one answered, I tried the door. It was unlocked. I let it open and called out. But I never did go inside—wasn't any need. On the floor at the base of the stairs was Karen Allister's head." The sheriff gave a nervous laugh. "I don't think I'd run that fast since my father chased me out of the house waving his belt."

"Just the head was there?"

The sheriff cleared his throat. "Just the head."

"Who ran the investigation?"

"Now we've got three deputies, me, and a coroner here in town. Back then, we weren't equipped for anything like that. So a couple detectives and a coroner came down from Marion to handle the initial investigation.

"We took over once the crime scene had been searched and the bodies taken care of. The mortician in town took some of the photos, and Charlie and I handled all the inquiries. There wasn't much to handle—no witnesses, no signs of forced entry or robbery. Just a lot of scared folks in town and a lot of speculation. Case is still open."

"What's your theory?" Jordan asked.

"Don't know that I ever settled on just one. Lots of folks think it was just some nut. The Allisters lived off the main highway from town. Would've been a logical place to stop if you were a crazy looking for a couple of unarmed folks to chop up."

"Did you check local authorities for similar crimes?"

"We surely did. Nothing at all like that. In fact, we sent some pictures up to Washington, to the FBI, too. They've got a big database up there now, but I think they were just starting things back then. They couldn't help much, either."

"What about the son?"

"Some folks think the son was involved. Charlie didn't think so. Personally, I sort of favored that theory. They say eighty percent of homicides are someone the victim knew."

Jordan had heard the statistics. He wished they worked on his case.

"But we checked the son out," Douglas continued. "He was at college then and had been real sick. His roommate and a couple others confirmed he hadn't left school during the time the women were killed."

"What else can you tell me about the son?"

"Name's George Allister. Hard to think of him as a killer, to be honest. His older sister Karen was in my class—real smart kid, valedictorian, on the girl's soccer team, a cheerleader, and all that. Got a full ride to Indiana, then on to Ohio State for med school. I think she was practicing in Indianapolis."

"What about George?"

"Don't know much about George. He was quieter than Karen, not as smart, not an athlete at all. He was a year older than my sister, and she always said he got picked on a lot. Kind of scrawny-looking from what I remember. But not the type you'd expect to go chopping people up." He laughed. "I expect people always say that, don't they?"

Jordan nodded. "You'd be surprised."

"Reckon that's true. I don't know how people in cities deal with all the crime. Mostly we get drunks and speeders, some drugs. Mostly kid stuff."

Jordan waited while the sheriff came back around to George.

"George wasn't dumb, though. He went to college on scholarship. I think he wanted to be a doctor like his sister."

Jordan made notes. "Do you know which college?"

"Wooster as I recall."

Jordan had never heard of it.

"It's not too far from here—in the town of Wooster, Ohio."

"Did he graduate?"

"Don't think so. A few months after the incident, we tried to contact George again. We had some more questions for him. But he'd left school. We never could find him. Finished up two years of college and then disappeared."

"What about George's father?"

The sheriff laughed. "There wasn't a father."

"Excuse me?"

"From what I remember, Jeanette Allister was a bit of a man hater. Whoever the father was, he was gone shortly after George was born."

"Any ideas why?"

"None. She wasn't an easy woman. Kids weren't supposed to ask a lot of questions back then, and I don't think I ever knew who he was or when he left. Charlie's a good bit older—he might know more."

"What made you think it was George who killed them?"

"What I saw in that house. I thought it looked like it was done by someone with real strong emotion about those people. There were rumors that Jeanette blamed the husband's leaving on George, which would explain how he might've been affected. He was an angry kid—bitter you might say. My guess is it was mostly because Karen was so successful. Typical second-child stuff. Like I said, you'd never have pinned him for a killer, though."

"But no one followed up on George as the killer after he disappeared?" Jordan asked.

"Charlie was in charge back then, and he didn't think it was possible that it could've been George. Plus, we checked out his alibi, like I told you. That's about where it got left."

"You said the case file was still open. Would it be possible to fax a copy to me?"

"I don't see any harm in it."

Jordan gave Sheriff Douglas his fax number and thanked him for his help.

Renee was standing by Jordan's side, waiting as he hung up the phone. "Good stuff?"

"Great." He told her about the fax she should be expecting. "Call Kansas City Police, and see if you can't locate Charlie Rickel. He was the sheriff at the time. And call Wooster College in Wooster, Ohio, and find out if George Allister graduated or when he stopped enrolling. Also, get any pictures they have of him."

Renee made notes. "Anything else?"

He shook his head. "Not yet."

"One more thing, Jordan. I got a call from Betty in Quantico." Renee glanced over her shoulder for listeners and then moved closer to Jordan's desk. "She heard the Bureau is sending someone out here."

Jordan stared at her and then looked around. "On this case?"

She nodded.

"They going to let me know about it?"

Renee shrugged. "Betty's working on finding out. She wasn't supposed to tell me. The whole thing's very hush hush."

Jordan digested the news. "Keep on it, would you? And if anyone asks anything about this case, I want them coming to me."

Renee nodded and left.

Jordan wondered what the hell that was about. He'd certainly take any help the FBI wanted to offer, but damn if they were going to start watching over his shoulder without telling him about it first. He wished Casey was there, but he'd call her as soon as he'd digested it all and get her opinion.

Despite a rocky first meeting, Casey had become his unofficial partner on this case. They'd taken to talking at the end of each day to discuss any new leads and for Jordan to get her feedback. People had asked about her presence at the vigil, so he was keeping her out of the station as much as possible. He didn't want Tapp thinking he'd brought the FBI in on his own. He wondered if she knew anything about the FBI's possible involvement.

Walter Jones knocked on the door. "Got his Indiana license."

Jordan waved him in.

Jones dropped a full-page fax on Jordan's desk and pointed to the picture. "Look like any of the composites?"

Rearranging the clutter on his desk, Jordan spread the police drawings and looked at each of them compared to the picture.

"They look nothing alike," Jones said.

Jordan clenched his jaw. He was right. "When was the license last renewed?"

"Not since '92."

Jordan stared at the information on the one-page application. "Run the same social in every state. Start with the ones close to Ohio, then work your way out."

Jones took the application and left.